


The Red Riders

by Kenny_Ackerman



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Manipulation, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Jon Snow/Others - Freeform, Mercenaries, Moral Ambiguity, R Plus L Equals J, Sellswords, War, War Elephants
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:43:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27584267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kenny_Ackerman/pseuds/Kenny_Ackerman
Summary: A bastard son of Eddard Stark, Jon Snow flees to Essos during Asher Forrester's exile from Ironrath. Former soldiers of the Golden Company, the two northerners create their own sellsword band comprising of a small squadron of men and five war elephants. Known to Essos as 'The Red Riders'. The two are desperate to return home in time to help aid in the fight of the North, but their path becomes entwined with the forgotten daughter of a once proud house, Daenerys Targaryen.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 25
Kudos: 53





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Updates Infrequent. This is a hobby.

“They say that the dragon queen has just taken Astapor. Daenerys Targaryen, apparently.”

Grey eyes looked up from his mug.

“How?” The drinker asked, wiping his mouth of the ale that had spilled onto his chin.

“Who’s to say? Word is that she flew on the back of a dragon and burned the masters before taking control of the Unsullied.”

The drinker with grey eyes scoffed.

“If you’re going to pull at my horn then at least make it believable. The dragons are gone; they have been for at least a century.”

The man across from him shrugged with a foresworn smile.

“If you say so,” he replied.

“I do say so,” the drinker with grey eyes said shortly.

“Are you afraid?”

“Aren’t you?”

“No. Why would I be,” the man asked with a slight cock to his head.

The drinker with grey eyes huffed as he set his mug down. 

“You never been one to think, Asher.”

Asher Forrester, the man sitting across the drinker with grey eyes, was a man from Westeros. From a vassal house in the Wolfswood of the north, he was a brawny and handsome young lord whom was banished from his home. His only crime was falling in love with the daughter of a rival house with who his father, and his father before him, quarreled with for as long as their houses stood.

“Maybe, but then again I was never a fan of much thinking. So, please humor me,” Asher said without a single ounce of worry.

“Daenerys Targaryen is a young girl, younger than both you or I. If the rumors of her taking Astapor and enlisting the Unsullied are true, then that means she has wit to her name. That makes her a threat.”

“Aye, that is a troublesome trait to impose on a woman,” Asher agreed. “Though, I don’t find it troublesome enough to have it shake me to my core.”

“Then you are a fool. Any individual with an ounce of wit and power is a fearsome foe to behold.”

“Says who?”

“Says history,” the drinker with grey eyes replied.

Asher hummed disinterestedly.

“Not to mention,” the drinker with grey eyes continued, “that if the rumors of her dragon are correct, then the world will have grown a lot darker. Another Aegon the Conqueror reborn…”

A frown marred Asher’s face for the first time that night.

“Now that is a frightening thought indeed,” Asher muttered.

The both picked up their mugs and drank. The drinker with grey eyes set his mug down once more.

“Do you know where they say her next destination is?”

Asher wiped his mouth.

“Yunkai,” he responded. “At least, that’s what the word is.”

The grey eyed drinker stared deeply in thought as the music from the tavern danced around them.

“That would make sense…”

“It would,” Asher agreed. “Yunkai is the supposed queen city of the world. If she managed to take it, well-”

“It would send a message to the rest of the world,” the drinker with the grey eyes finished.

Asher gave a hearty laugh as he slammed his mug down, causing ale to splash onto the table.

“You always find a way to finish someone else’s sentences. Are you a mind reader or are we all just as dramatic as you, Jon?”

Jon Snow, the drinker with grey eyes. The bastard son of Eddard Stark, he had no hope of aspiring to be anything great in life. Perhaps he could’ve squired for a knight, if only he’d asked, but he had never been one to ask much of his lord father. His lord father’s wife had made sure of that.

“Neither,” Jon replied flatly. “I’m merely just one to think based on logical reasoning.”

Asher stared at him with one raised eyebrow but shrugged offhandedly only a few moments later; downing the rest of his ale.

Both Jon and Asher sat back to watch the scenery around them, bawdy women walked around the inn serving drinks and food. Sometimes they served the men directly. 

Two women approached the two, one with hair as dark as pitch and the other with brown hair that curled down her shoulders. The woman with the dark hair was a curvaceous woman, whom had skin the color of amber and eyes that shone like bronze. Jon wondered if she was of Ghiscari or Naathi descent; perhaps both. On the other hand, the one with brown curling hair had pale skin and blue eyes to match, her lips plump; and whereas the exotic beauty was voluptuous, this one was more slender and lithe.

Both women circled round the table of the two, gathering the attention of both men, sliding hands along their shoulders. They smirked and giggled as they rounded them, exchanging gazes with one another before they paused by a man of their choosing and audaciously sat in their lap.

Arthur welcomed the gesture, laughing with the brown haired one as he embraced her figure in his arms, both of them coming dangerously close to each other’s lips before pulling away in fits of laughter.

Jon, on the other hand, was much less willing. Though, he still welcomed the woman on his lap by wrapping a lazy arm around her waist as she encircled his neck, the frown on his face was still evident.

“What’s wrong, handsome? Don’t you find me desirable,” the bronze-eyed one asked with a rough accent to her common tongue.

She was beautiful, he thought. Her cheekbones were high and her teeth dazzling against her skin. Any other time and Jon would be more than tempted to reciprocate her advances, but the news of the dragon queen had put a sort of damper on his mood.

“It isn’t the right time,” he responded with a rough burr in his voice.

However, it seemed to have the opposite effect as the woman on his lap turned to her companion.

“Oh my, I could drown in his voice,” she breathed out to the pale woman in Asher’s embrace.

“His eyes seem to be able to swallow you whole. I could let him stare at me forever.”

Jon looked to Asher, who was currently laughing silently at the situation and undoubtedly finding humor at Jon’s expense.

“Yes,” the woman on his lap brought a hand to his cheek and turned him to her, “they’re so greyish and dark. Almost like the steels forged in Old Valyria.”

“This one also has grey eyes,” the brown haired one noted when she looked at Asher. “Though his are more light and green in tone.”

She ran a hand through the banished lord’s hair and began to stroke his chest suggestively.

“Well don’t refrain from making me feel like the second prize here,” Asher chuckled.

Both women laughed.

“Oh, you’re no second prize to me,” said the brown haired one, with a predatory gaze. “I plan on showing you just how rewarding I can be when I choose a man.”

“Well, show away,” Asher replied.

Jon had to clear his throat to get the man’s attention, Asher giving him an annoyed glare.

“Focus on the matter at hand, Asher,” Jon pleaded.

“We can focus tomorrow,” Asher argued, before turning up to bite at the woman’s earlobe.

“It’s better to focus now,” Jon protested.

Asher huffed and stopped in his ministrations, but it was the woman on Jon’s lap that spoke first.

“Are you two troubled by something?” She asked Jon.

He had the decency of giving her his attention, not wanting to be rude, as he answered.

“Not enough to concern yourself with.”

Though, Asher felt no need to retain information from all the parties in their conversation.

“Sellsword troubles, dear.”

“Oh, are you two with all the men in this room?” The woman on Asher’s lap asked.

He turned to her with a boasting smile.

“Aye, we are. They are _our_ men after all.”

She gave him a wide-eyed stare in response as she looked at the woman across from her. The bronze eyed woman looked down at Jon with an inquiring gaze and gave him an impressively lustful gaze when he confirmed her thoughts with a nod.

“All these men in here follow you,” the pale blue-eyed woman asked.

“Aye,” Asher confirmed, “they do.” Then, he slightly puffed out his chest in a boastful manner. “Asher Forrester, son of Gregor Forrester and Elissa Forrester. Commander of The Red Riders.”

The brown-haired woman gave an impressed squeal as she began to pepper kisses on his face. Asher only laughed rambunctiously in response.

Jon frowned at the two but didn’t interrupt as his attention was currently being sought out by the woman on his lap.

“And you? Who are you in this army,” she asked.

The woman began to shift in his lap slightly, sliding her leg up and down his in a suggestive manner. Jon was about ready to shove her off, but then he thought about the disappointment in his father’s eyes if his lord father ever found out he’d treated a woman shamefully.

“Jon Snow,” he responded, “captain of The Red Riders.” The woman hummed and placed her thigh against his groin as she leaned into him. He turned away with a hard look, but it didn’t deter the woman from placing open kisses on the side of his neck and jaw.

“And we’re not an army,” he clarified. “We’re just sellswords.”

“Sellswords that command other sellswords. Organized and tactical,” she breathed. “A small army, but an army nonetheless.”

He couldn’t argue with that. They were a small force but an effective one. Though, they did have an unfair advantage against most other sellsword companies.

“Captain,” she whispered into his neck. “My captain.”

The resistance on him was wavering far too quickly, he was no longer able to ignore the way his body was reacting to her touches. He couldn’t deny that he was currently being intoxicated by the perfume that wafted from her and to him.

Asher took notice of this and gave a dark smile.

“Come on, Snow. Let loose and live a little. We can focus on things tomorrow.”

Jon frowned at him, a biting response waiting on the tip of his tongue, but a hand had suddenly gone to his trousers and began rubbing him through the leathered fabric he wore. It had been a long time since he’d lied with a woman, he thought. It had taken years for Asher to convince him to partake in the whore houses they’d visited on their travels.

And even then, it hadn’t erased the strong hesitancy on Jon’s end when a woman did make her advances known to him.

He gritted his teeth and glared at the blonde northerner across from him.

“Tomorrow,” he growled.

Asher laughed in response.

* * *

Jon rose with the sun the very next morning, being careful not to wake his bed companion as he dressed himself as quietly as possible.

He had enjoyed himself the night prior, the woman’s touch was exotic and pleasurable. However, at what cost? He felt a fleeting high when she whispered into his ear and screamed into the night; but felt empty to his core after the deed was done and forcing himself to drift off into sleep in the beautiful woman’s embrace.

Rows of horses were lined up and tied to hitches, wide awake and drinking the remnants of water left for them from the previous night. Jon walked by them and moved to the stables at the tavern, where his mount awaited him. He grabbed two pails full of grain and made his way.

Asher’s black destrier was there as well, in the stable next to Jon’s own, gulping down generous amounts of water from its trough. It was a beautiful animal, sleek and proud. However, Jon found that its beauty slightly lacked when it stood side by side against Jon’s seal brown destrier.

To many people, perhaps Asher had the better horse. Its uniform coat shone magnificently under the sun. Though, Jon found beauty in the perfect imperfection of the splashes of brown coloring on the snout and underbelly of his mount. 

Jon smiled when he neared the proud animal, its snorts of excitement filled the air as Jon brought the pail of grain down for him to eat. The horse ate greedily, as if it hadn’t been fed healthily in its life, and Jon grabbed a brush to begin combing its mane.

“Slow it down there, Mutt. You’ll overeat yourself and leave me a sitting duck on the battlefield,” Jon chortled.

Mutt. A subjugated name. However, one that Jon found fitting for his steed to wear. A name that he’d been called a handful of many times in his youth by Lady Stark. A mutt is what she called him. A bastard with no mother, unworthy of knowing her identity. A stain on their perfect family.

If Asher’s horse was the perfect steed with its coat as dark as midnight, then Mutt was the stain next to it. Mutt was proud and energetic, keeping up with its black friend but never taking the light. He was costly to The Red Riders, eating double the amount of grain of any other horse in their company. However, Jon knew that it more than made up for its expense.

When Jon was finished with grooming his horse, he grabbed and empty bucket in the corner to turn upside down and sit on. He rested his back against the wooded stable and talked endlessly to his friend; Mutt hearing every gripe and complaint with patient ears (while eating of course).

He had lost track of how long he’d been there, only being brought out of his monologue when the black destrier beside them started to whine; signifying Asher’s approach.

Jon stood up to his full height and turned to his friend.

He ended up scaring the living soul out of him.

“By the gods, Jon” Asher exclaimed.

Jon simply bid him a good morning as Asher set a pail of grain in front of his own mount.

“I should’ve known you were here,” Asher muttered. “You’d always preferred the company of your horse to man.”

“I find Mutt to be more agreeable than any man,” Jon admitted honestly.

“Why did you even give him that name, anyways?”

“It’s apt,” Jon replied simply.

“It’s degrading,” Asher snorted.

Jon simply shrugged.

“Well, I guess I can’t fault you,” Asher continued. “Next to my Wrath, your horse does look very much like a mutt.”

“To be a great horse, he doesn’t need to have a great name,” Jon retorted.

Asher shook his head and began to brush Wrath’s mane. Jon reined his horse and began to lead him to the stream that flowed by the tavern. Not wanting to be left behind, Asher quickly brushed the rest of his horse’s mane and began to reign him as well.

“I’ll bring you back to finish your grain later,” Asher whispered harshly as he began to tug against the reigns his horse. Eventually, Wrath relented and followed his rider to the stream.

Jon was currently using a bucket to pour water over Mutt’s coat, brushing here and there. Asher gave them ample room but made sure he was standing close by to Jon, so as that they could hear each other clearly.

“Last night was quite the night, wasn’t it?” Asher enquired with a slight teasing tone.

Jon simply grunted in response.

“I heard that beauty from the room over,” Asher noted, “while I was just finishing with the lass under me. What were you doing to her?”

“Things,” Jon responded.

“Are you going to tell me?”

“No.”

Asher frowned but didn’t press any further.

“Did she at least make you feel good?”

Jon shrugged.

“Fucking is fucking,” he responded. “Feels the same as any other time.”

“It should, but you make it seem like it’s more of a duty than something to leisure,” Asher drawled.

“Daenerys Targaryen,” Jon cut sharply.

Asher turned to him with a confused look.

“You said we’d focus tomorrow,” Jon continued. “It’s tomorrow.”

“Aye, I did say that,” Asher sighed.

“She’s taken Astapor.”

“Aye.”

“And the Unsullied.”

“Aye.”

“And now, she apparently has a dragon as well?”

Asher looked into his eyes with a serious stare.

“Aye.”

Jon cursed under his breath and rested his forehead against the back of Mutt’s body.

“I was praying that you’d been drunk beyond reason,” Jon muttered truthfully. “That you were fabricating the first tale you’d heard. Even now, I’m hoping that’s the case.”

He stood up straight and stared off into the horizon.

“However,” Jon continued, “we live in strange times. Just a year past my brother sent me a message that direwolves had travelled south of the wall. My father, dead. My brothers, dead. My sisters, one gone and the other missing… no, presumably dead.”

Jon clenched his fist and an angry look appeared on his face.

“My brother is at war with the Lannisters, trying to avenge my father’s death. And here I am, halfway across the world and playing at sellsword.”

“Jon,” Asher started, “my family is at war as well. My father and brother are helping King Robb. If you’re a coward, then so am I.”

Jon shook his head.

“You were exiled. You have a reason to be gone. I just left on my own volition.”

“You were hounded out from your home as well,” Asher argued.

“I could’ve stayed,” Jon replied. “My lord father wanted me to stay. Begged me even. But I told him that Lady Stark would never accept me in his home. That I’d never be like the rest of his sons and daughters. So, I left.”

“And I’m glad you did,” Asher told him. “If you hadn’t, then I would never have gotten this far.”

Jon gave him an appreciative half smile with a nod.

“I mean,” Asher carried on, “look at us. Former members of the Golden Company. Leaders of the Red Riders. We’ve made well for ourselves.”

Jon unclenched his fist and rested his forearms on Mutt.

“Aye, I suppose we have.”

“What would I be without you or Beskha?” Asher asked.

“Dead?” Jon offered.

Asher gave him a deadpan stare, Jon returned it with a flat gaze of his own before the two burst out into chuckles; Asher’s more pronounced than Jon’s.

Eventually, they both managed to settle themselves from their laughter and Asher felt the need to assure his friend.

“When we get enough money for a charter, we’ll sail back to Westeros and help win the war for the North once and for all. We’re so close, I can feel it. I promise.”

Jon looked back at the horizon, not wanting to stake his hopes on any promises.

“We should go to Yunkai.”

Jon whipped his head around to Asher.

“What?”

He must have heard incorrectly.

“Yunkai,” Asher stated once again. “We should travel there next.”

“Are you insane? Why would we go to Yunkai if Daenerys Targaryen marches on it?”

Asher leaned slightly in.

“Think about it, Jon,” Asher started, as Jon gave him a glare in return, “if Daenerys Targaryen has sacked Astapor and marches on Yunkai with the Unsullied, then…” Asher trailed off, obviously expecting Jon to catch.

Unfortunately, Jon did catch on.

“Then, Yunkai would need help to defend the city.”

“Exactly!”

Jon shook his head.

“How long will he have to work for slavers, Asher?”

Asher frowned.

“As long as it takes until we make enough coin to go home.”

Jon gritted his teeth and looked away, but Asher placed a rough hand on his shoulder and wrenched him around.

“Hey! Look at me!” Asher said. “We don’t get the luxury of choosing who we fight for. We’re beggars right now. We need as much coin as we can muster to sail to White Harbor!”

“I know,” Jon admitted in defeat. “It’s just, what would my brother say if he knew who I was fighting for? What would your family say?”

“They wouldn’t say anything. They would want us to go home safely to help them. And if they did say something, then who says we need tell them?”

Jon tightened his fist once more but looked away in assent.

“Fine. Let’s say we go to Yunkai, what’s the guarantee they’ll hire us?”

“Well, they’re beggars too are they not?” Asher smiled. “We need money to go home, they need all the help they can get to defend their city from Daenerys Targaryen.”

“Aye, speaking of Daenerys Targaryen, how are we meant to defeat her and her dragon?”

Asher looked down with a pensive look.

“How big do you think it is?”

“I haven’t the faintest clue,” Jon answered.

“You told me once that you used to read all the tales of Targaryen of old. Give me your best guess.”

“I mainly read up on Daeron Targaryen. The Young Dragon.”

“And how big was his dragon?” Asher asked him.

Jon turned to him with a disbelieving look and Asher inquired what was wrong.

“Daeron didn’t have a dragon. His time was after the dance,” Jon informed him.

“Oh.”

…

“Well, still. Give me your best guess.”

Jon sighed.

“If I had to guess, I’d say that there isn’t a chance that it’s battle ready. Possibly not even ready to mount, yet.”

“But the tales-”

“Are probably fabricated. Not to say there isn’t a dragon, just that they overestimated their importance. Which is troublesome.”

“How so?”

Jon turned to him.

“I told you already. An individual with wit and power is a dangerous foe.”

“Well,” Asher said, “think of this as a bonus.” Jon gave him a confused glance. “Won’t it bring honor upon your name if you defeat the daughter of the man that ruined your family? That ruined many families.”

Jon looked down pensively.

“Daenerys Targaryen hasn’t done me any wrong,” he said.

“True, but her father did your father plenty. And… you as well.”

“How?” Jon wondered.

“Your mother.”

Jon paused.

“Asher,” he warned.

“If Aerys hadn’t murdered your uncle and grandfather. If Rhaegar Targaryen hadn’t stolen and raped your aunt. Wouldn’t you be with your mother right now?”

“I don’t know who my mother is.”

“Ashara Dayne,” Asher stated.

“That’s just a rumor. She’s as likely to be my mother as some whore or a fisherman’s daughter,” Jon said with a shake of his head.

“A credible rumor,” Asher replied. “Many of lords were at the tourney of Harrenhal. Many of lords say your father was taken with Ashara, and her with him.”

That was true, Jon thought.

“They say that Ashara Dayne threw herself off a tower and into the sea when your lord father went to visit her.”

“Aye, but he’d just slain her brother,” Jon muttered.

“Or it could’ve been lost love. He was already married, wasn’t he? Yet, he still came back with a babe. With you.”

Jon chewed on the inside of his lip as he thought about what Asher was saying. It was true, that the facts lined up to it; Jon had thought on it many times before.

Suddenly, a trumpeting sound could be heard down the stream; and both Asher and Jon turned to the source.

Asher turned to Jon with a victorious grin.

“How do you think the Unsullied would fare against five elephants?”

Jon stared at the grey beasts in great thought.

Yes, with the possession of five elephants. The Red Riders might just be valuable to Yunkai in the fight against Daenerys Targaryen after all.

“How soon do you think the dragon queen will reach Yunkai?” Jon asked Asher.

Asher hummed in thought.

“With her band of unsullied on foot, then I’d estimate a week. Possibly two.”

“And us?”

“Hm, with our position. We’d probably reach Yunkai in half her time. Maybe a little longer due to how slow those behemoths travel.”

Asher turned to Jon.

“Why? What are you thinking?”

“I was thinking that perhaps we should travel as quickly as we can.”

“What for?”

“We can strike a deal with the masters of Yunkai, and then we can ambush the dragon queen when she least expects it on the Ghiscari coastal road.”

“Is that wise?” Asher asked.

“It’s a risky endeavor,” Jon admitted. “The road is so narrow; the elephants fall into the sea and we’d be left defenseless.”

Asher gave him a grim look.

“So, knowing that, what do you think we should do?”

Jon pursed his lips and stood back in thought. However, he soon shook his head.

“It’s too risky. It’s better to wait by Yunkai and meet her on open battle. A victory should count as a victory to the masters.”

Asher nodded, brushing the last grime and dirt out of Wrath’s coat.

“Aye, I’ll let the men know where our next destination lies.”

Asher pulled on the reigns of Wrath and began to lead him back to his stable.

Jon stayed in the stream and rubbed Mutt’s muzzle as he began to ask for forgiveness from his father. From his ancestors. And from the mother, whomever she was, that he never knew.

Forgiveness for fighting for slavers; the very people his father had detested. However, Asher was right. They needed to return home, to help their native land in the fight against the treacherous snakes of the south.

_Wait for me Robb_ , he thought. _I’ll get there as soon as I can._

* * *

**Jon Snow – 17, Son of Eddard Stark, The Bastard of Winterfell**

**Mutt – Seal Brown Destrier, Jon Snow’s Mount**

**Asher Forrester – 21, Son of Asher Forrester, exiled lord of Ironrath.**

**Wrath – Black Destrier, Asher Forrester’s Mount**


	2. Chapter 2

**Yunkai**

“This is a terrible idea.”

“What is?” Asher asked him.

“This,” Jon responded. “Meeting with the second sons.”

“Relax. They’re on our side.”

“They’re sellswords, and one of them is Mero. You’re too trusting,” Jon stated glumly.

“Sellswords with a common enemy,” Asher retorted.

“I know, but I still think we should’ve armored the elephants.”

“We’re not here to fight,” Asher chided.

“But we should at least be prepared for it,” Jon argued.

“Everything will be fine.”

Jon sure hoped so.

“You just make sure you sit there and look pretty for all of us while holding our colors proudly,” Asher finished.

Jon grunted, but kept grip of the pole in his grasp; a banner hanging high as Mutt trotted forward. The banner was a black elephant head on a red field, fielded below were the words “Steel” “Blood” and “Honor”, in white lettering.

“How much further?”

“Not much,” Asher assured. “As a matter of fact, I think I can just make out the Second Sons’ sigil just by that central encampment.”

Jon didn’t respond but felt relief at the sight, his arm was beginning to grow tired from holding their company’s banner and could use a much-needed rest. Next time, he would make sure they’d bring along another soldier to carry their banner for them.

“Oh, and… let me do the talking,” Asher said to him.

Jon shrugged and thought it was probably for the best. Jon had never been good at conversation, much better at thinking. They arrived and hitched their horses to a vacant post before walking into the tent; Asher confident, while Jon wary. Immediately, they were treated to the sight of half garbed women dancing in a circle at the leisure of 3 individuals.

Jon instantly recognized one as the Titan’s Bastard, Mero. Jon had seen the man once when Asher had taken the Red Riders through Meereen a few moons past. The other two were much less imposing; one Ghiscari while the other seemed to be Tyroshi. The Ghiscari individual had skin the color of bark and hair down past his shoulders, while the Tyroshi was kissed by the sun and hair a burnt brown.

“And who the fuck are you two?” Mero asked crudely.

“Asher Forrester,” the older boy introduced. “This one here is my captain, Jon Snow.”

The Braavosi snorted as he looked them up and down. Asher gave him a friendly smile while Jon shot the man an unimpressed look.

“These are the ones that the masters contracted at the last second?” The Ghiscari one asked.

“It appears so, Prendahl. The great ‘Red Riders’”, Mero mocked. “They have war elephants, apparently.”

Prendahl frowned.

“And how many men?”

The two northerners focused their attention to the Tyroshi sellsword who had been sitting quietly in the corner of the tent.

“Fifty mounted, twenty as archers,” Asher answered.

“Fifty and twenty? Seventy men and you two have the gall to strut about the place as if you’re the harpy’s grace of Essos?” Mero asked incredulously.

“Aye, our numbers are fewer than most bands, but we make up for it with the elephants.”

“How many that is?”

“Five.”

“Only five,” Prendahl noted dryly.

“Five is better than none,” Asher retorted. “And no infantry or cavalry can hope to stand a chance against an elephant charge mounted with archers.”

“Elephants aren’t invincible,” the Tyroshi cut in smoothly, smiling to show off a golden tooth in his upper row.

“Aye, they aren’t, but it’s not as if we’ll stand idly to let foes have free aim at them.”

The Tyroshi nodded in response, blue eyes twinkling with mirth.

“Where’s the dragon queen?” Asher asked, wanting to move the meeting along.

“Up on the hill,” The Tyroshi answered.

“She asked to treat with us,” Mero cut in, “and we weren’t sure if we were in the mood. However, I’m bored out of my mind here, so I might as well. Could use a good fuck.”

“Lead on, then,” Asher replied.

* * *

The first thing that crossed Jon Snow’s mind when he laid his eyes upon Daenerys Targaryen was that she was undoubtedly the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid his eyes upon. The second, was that she was the daughter of the mad king. And the third, that she didn’t have one dragon but three; their silhouettes flying in the distance.

The next thing that crossed his mine was the northerner that stood at her side. It had been years since Jon had been in Westeros, but he never forgot a face so easily. Which meant that the man that stood at the dragon queen’s side was undoubtedly Ser Jorah Mormont, the man that had fled his father’s death sentence after he was caught selling slaves on Westerosi soil. And, by the way the exiled lord looked at him, Jon suspected that the man knew of his identity as well; or at least had a faint idea.

Though, it was an aging man, that accompanied the dragon queen as well, that spoke and introduced the lot.

“Your grace, may I introduce the captains of the Second Sons: The Titan’s Bastard, Mero, Prendahl na Ghezn, and…,” he turned to the Tyroshi sellsword.

The young captain instead turned to Daenerys Targaryen to answer her directly.

“Daario Naharis,” he proclaimed, with a slight bow of his head.

Daenerys Targaryen gave him a smirk in return. Though, in truth, she’d already been smirking when they had first arrived.

The grizzled man the turned to the two youngest individuals that stuck out like two horses in water.

“And you two?”

“We’re not of the Second Sons,” Asher answered him.

“Then you are whom exactly?”

It was the dragon queen who had asked.

“I am Asher Forrester, commander of the Red Riders.”

“Forrester?” Jorah wondered aloud. “You’re Gregor’s boy.”

“Aye, Ser Jorah.”

“I heard you’d been exiled only a few years after I was. Was it Eddard Stark’s resolution?”

Jon gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes at the exiled knight. He didn’t like the bitterness in the man’s voice when he spoke his lord father’s name.

“My father’s,” Asher corrected.

“Yunkai hired another company?” The old man, that introduced them, asked.

“They are still outnumbered as it stands,” Asher shrugged.

“Yes, that is very true,” Daenerys Targaryen spoke up. “Which is why I’ve invited the Second Sons to treat with me.”

Mero began to saunter towards her, but Daenerys Targaryen’s voice broke the silence once more.

“Though,” she started, turning to Jon, “I don’t believe I quite caught your name.”

Jon began to wonder if he should answer truthfully or if he should make up an alias. Then again, it would most likely be unwise since Jorah Mormont was currently in the tent with them. However, his thinking was cut short and his decision made for him by none other than Asher himself.

“His name is Jon.”

Daenerys rose an eyebrow and turned to him with an inquiring gaze.

“Oh, is your friend mute?” She asked Asher.

Asher coughed slightly while Jon grinded his teeth together and clenched his fist at his side.

“Eh…no. He’s just very averse to people,” Asher replied.

Daenerys hummed in response but didn’t press the issue further.

“Very well.” She gestured her hand towards the chairs around her. “Please, have a seat.”

Jon and Asher made their way to a couch off to the side, while Prendahl and Daario sat by the front. Mero, on the other hand, made his way to where the dragon queen sat and took a seat next to her; throwing a lazing hand on the rest as he leaned back.

“I could’ve sworn I fucked you once, in a pillow house in Lys,” Mero said.

“Mind your tongue,” Jorah growled.

Daenerys simply gave an amused look.

“Why? I didn’t mind hers when she asked me here.” He turned to the woman beside him. “Come on love, lick my arse and I’ll do the same for you.”

Mero flicked his wide tongue crudely at her, and Jon was sure that Mormont would decapitate the man then and there. The old grizzled man also looked disgruntled but showed much more restraint at his queen’s assuring words. In the room was also an unsullied captain, whom betrayed no emotions, and a slave girl that held a flagon of wine.

Mero took notice of said girl and called her over while referring to her status.

“We have no slaves here,” Daenerys said smoothly.

Jon and Asher exchanged a look with one another.

“You’ll all be slaves after the battle,” Mero announced to them. “You should hope that I save you.”

The girl, with the flagon of wine, began to pour into his cup, and Mero leaned over to sniff the poor girl; causing her to back away in contempt.

“How many men do the Second Sons currently field?” Daenerys asked to the grizzled man beside her.

“Just under two thousand, your grace,” he answered.

“Two thousand?”

“Aye,” he affirmed. “Considerably less than our ten thousand Unsullied.”

She turned to Mero with a slightly victorious grin. However, it was cut short when Daario Naharis spoke.

“I certainly hope the old man is better with a sword than he is at lying.”

Daenerys turned to him with a frown.

“You have eight thousand Unsullied,” he finished, with a small bow of his head.

 _They still outnumber us by at least two thousand on the field_ , Jon thought.

“You’re very young to be a captain,” Daenerys noted.

“He’s not a captain,” Prendahl noted to her. “He’s a lieutenant.”

“Still, I’d say that two thousand is a considerably far less number than eight thousand, wouldn’t you say?” She retorted.

A hint of a smirk played on her face before she addressed the men once more.

“Fight for me,” Daenerys said simply.

“Our word is our oath,” Prendahl scoffed, “and if we were to break our oath then no one would ever hire the Second Sons ever again.”

“If you were to fight for me,” Daenerys started, “then you wouldn’t ever have to worry about being hired again. You would have jewels, and riches, and a lordship of your choosing once I reclaim the seven kingdoms.”

Jon saw that the two older captains were set in their minds, but he could see the Tyroshi’s mind working at a fast pace behind his eyes. However, Jon and Asher stiffened in their seat. Another Targaryen leading Westeros? That’s the last thing the seven kingdoms needed.

“Come on, love,” Mero interrupted, “take off your clothes and sit on old Mero’s lap; and I might give you my Second Sons.”

“Give me your Second Sons, and I might not have you gelded.”

For the first time, it seemed as if the queen’s composure had cracked; though, she quickly masked it with a smile.

“You have no siege weapons,” Daario noted, “nor cavalry, nor ships.”

She gave the sellsword a smile.

“A fortnight ago I had no army, a year past I had no dragons.”

The word had set something in Jon, flicking his eyes to the distance where he’d seen the three beasts flying. Sure, they were nowhere near to posing a threat in any battle, but eventually they would be.

“You have two days to consider my offer. Please, take this flagon of wine as a faith of good gesture.”

“A flagon?” Mero asked, before pointing to both Prendahl and Daario. “And what are my two companions to drink?”

“A barrel, then,” Daenerys clarified.

“Good,” Mero responded with satisfaction. “Mero does not drink alone.”

He made his way to the exit but stopped to slap the flagon girl’s arse before walking off with a laugh.

The dragon queen gave the man’s back an incensed look.

“Ser Barristan,” she said, “when it comes to battle, make sure you kill that one first.”

“Gladly, your grace,” the grizzled man responded.

Had Jon heard correctly? Did she just call the grizzled man Ser Barristan? By the look on his companion’s face, Asher had heard the same name.

Asher turned to him with worried eyes, and Jon gestured for them to leave. They both stood and began to make their exit, but the queen’s voice stopped them in their tracks.

“And you two?”

They both turned to her

“Will you set your allegiance with me?”

Jon looked to Asher for his answer, but the young Forrester’s answer was pretty clear when he shook his head.

“Forgive us, your grace, but I’m afraid we’ve made our oath the same as them.”

“You’ll be fighting a losing battle,” she told them. “Outnumbered vastly, four to one.”

“Not quite. Yunkai can currently field four thousand soldiers, along with the combined forces of the Seconds Sons and Red Riders. It’s currently six thousand against my eight.”

“You have less than a hundred men?” She inquired.

“Seventy,” Asher confirmed.

“The Yunkai must be desperate for protection.”

“I suspect the war elephants helped ease their minds,” he shrugged.

Jorah stiffened.

“And the men that the Yunkai field,” Daenerys continued, “they’re slave soldiers, are they not?”

“A slave soldier is still a soldier,” Asher retorted, not quite understanding what she meant.

“Either way, I still have the greater numbers. The greater odds at success.”

“You think we’d trade our honor just for a higher chance at an assured victory?” Asher asked her.

“Why not? Isn’t the fundamental goal of a sellsword to make coin while proving their worth? My offer is the same. Fight for me and you wouldn’t have to fight for another individual ever again. When we return home, I’d even be inclined to raise your house to a proud one.”

Then she turned to him, violet eyes looking deeply into dark grey.

“And I’m sure your friend, would be grateful for his own house as well.”

“Our word is our honor,” Asher insisted. “We’re not here to serve one person individually. Our goal is to make enough coin to hire a ship and go home. Preferably within the year. Do you plan on returning to Westeros within a year?”

She shook her head.

“My ultimate mission is to reclaim the homeland that was stolen from me, Asher Forrester. However, that mission must be put at rest until I finish my fight here in Essos.”

“You’re fight in Essos?”

“Slavery,” she said to him. “Injustice. I cannot leave until I free every crying slave from their chains.”

“You’re going to wage a war against the masters?”

Daenerys nodded.

“That could take years. We don’t have years.”

“Oh? And what is your mission, Asher Forrester? What ails you to return home with haste?”

“Family,” he told her, before nodding over to Jon. “Both of ours.”

Daenerys asked him to indulge further.

“The seven kingdoms are currently at war. The Lannisters currently war with the north. Robb Stark seeks to avenge the offense taken upon his family.”

“I see, so your family is currently aiding Lord Stark in the war against the Lannisters?”

“King Robb.”

Everyone turned to Jon, whom had held his silence during the entire meeting.

“Oh, so he can speak,” Daenerys mocked.

“Her grace is the rightful ruler-” Ser Jorah started, but Jon cut him off.

“Her grace was ousted from Westeros near two decades past. My brother currently fights for the north and her people. What right does she have to call herself its queen?”

The look on Daenerys’ face was more than enough to show that she was not pleased by his words.

“Your brother?” She growled.

Jon bit his tongue at his blunder and Asher closed his eyes to pray to whatever god could hear him.

“He is nothing more than a mere pretender,” she finished flatly.

“My brother is a King. From where I’m standing, the pretender is the one in front of me.”

The air grew cold around them, Ser Jorah and the Unsullied captain looking at him with narrowed eyes.

“Your grace,” Ser Barristan said, “if I may.”

Daenerys gestured for him to proceed.

“By the boy’s words and his coloring, I’d say that I knew the character of his father.”

“The usurper’s lapdog?”

Jon felt his hand tighten and he bit back a scathing retort.

“His father was an honorable man, your grace, believe me.”

Ser Jorah gave the man a pursed look but did not interject.

“An honorable man?” She questioned.

“Aye, your grace,” Ser Barristan answered.

She turned to Jon.

“Then tell me, _Jon Stark_ , what would your honorable father say if he were to know that you threw your lot in with slavers? Would he be proud of you? That you stood with injustice?”

Jon clenched his fist at his side.

“He would be disappointed,” Jon admitted through clenched teeth. “And my name is Snow. I’m not a Stark.”

“Then why not fight for me? If it’s immediate riches you seek, then I would compensate you handsomely at a first moment’s opportunity.”

“Our word is our word,” Asher cut in before things escalated further. “Our honesty is the only values we bring from home. We may not agree with our employers, but our feelings are irrelevant. A word once given is a word that must be upheld. Forgive us, but I believe this conversation is over.”

He placed a hand on Jon’s shoulder, and gestured for him to follow.

* * *

It was nighttime, and both Asher and Jon stood inside their tent around a map that had the terrain of Yunkai. Beskha had already left the two to drink with the rest of the camp, bored by their strategies of how to best utilize their men.

“With the Second Sons as backup cavalry, we should be able to flank the Unsullied somewhat successfully,” Jon told Asher. “If the mounted archers aim towards the front lines of their formation, the elephants will be able to clear a path for the cavalry to help destroy.”

“Aye, I hear you.”

“Though, we should only use it as a last resort. The elephants would serve better as a defensive measure.”

Asher nodded.

“Gods, Asher. We’re fighting for slavers to uphold slavery. Have we really sunk this low?”

Asher grimaced.

“Aye, it rubs me the wrong way as well, but my ancestors would spit on me if I went back on my word. As would yours.”

“After this, let’s not fight for another master ever again,” Jon said to him.

“After this, the only man we’ll fight for is your brother.”

Jon gave him a grateful nod, but panicked yells and shouts brought his attention elsewhere. Asher ran outside to check the commotion before he came back with a frantic look in his eyes.

“The city!”

Jon grabbed his sword as he followed the older man. He was witness to the sight of Yunkai’s closed gates, the Seconds Sons and Red Riders gawking at the walls as they heard mayhem on the other side.

“It can’t be Daenerys Targaryen,” Jon muttered. “It’s too soon…she said two days.”

“What the fuck is happening?”

They turned to a tall, Ghiscari woman, with green eyes and a face full of scars. Beskha the Basilisk; a lieutenant of the Red Riders and Asher’s oldest friend. They referred to one another as siblings and she had tried to do the same with Jon until he let her know he’d had enough siblings in his life.

“I think it’s quite clear what’s happening,” Asher responded. “It seems that Daenerys Targaryen has launched a preemptive strike.”

“Can we get in?” Jon asked.

Beskha shook her head.

“The gates are closed shut. The only way we get inside is if the guardsmen open the doors for us, But I think they were the first victims. At least, they’d be mine.”

“How’d they even get in?” Asher hissed.

That’s exactly what Jon wanted to know. As the supposed queen city of the world, he would’ve expected the Yunkai masters to keep their stronghold a stronghold. Impenetrable walls for their inflated egos. They prided themselves in their culture and their power. They had sewers but those exited by a cliff. How could Daenerys Targaryen have gotten through?

The only way he could think of was treason. But who would betray the masters? Certainly not the slave army; the poor lot were terrified of the repercussions. It couldn’t be the Second Sons either. Mero and his companions were steadfast-

“Daario Naharis,” Jon whispered in realization.

“What?” Asher asked him, not quite hearing over the commotion.

“Daario Naharis,” Jon said in a louder voice. “He’s betrayed us.”

He began to look around him, at all the enemy’s faces but only saw the same confusion on the faces of the Second Sons soldiers.

“And I suspect he may be acting alone,” Jon finished. “We have to attack now.”

Asher and Beskha turned to him with a wide look.

“Are you insane?! They outnumber us four to one without the Yunkai forces,” Beskha hissed.

“We don’t have a choice,” Jon growled back. “As it stands, we’ll be crushed without having even fought.”

It was obvious that Beskha wanted to protest but couldn’t find a reason to argue.

“So, what do you think is the best course of action, then?” Asher asked him.

“The queen,” Jon told him. “If we capture her, then we’ll have won.”

“She’s at the center of her camp. There’s no way for us to reach her.”

“It’s dark and she’s just launched a surprise attack. She won’t be expecting us to answer. We’ll charge with every man, every elephant and every archer until we reach her.”

Jon ran to where Mutt was hitched, strapping his sword along his waist.

“Tell the Second Sons to mount every horse they can,” Jon said to Beskha. “We’ll need every man. And tell them to have a small squad charging first. The rest will strike after the elephants.”

They had one shot at this. There wasn’t a chance in the seven hells that they’d defeat Daenerys Targaryen’s armies in a fair battle. They’d have to focus all their power in one side and cut through.

“You know,” Asher started, mounting Wrath, “you’d be a great leader. Sometimes I think you should be the commander, or perhaps co-commander of the Red Riders.”

Jon gave an amused huff.

“Please, Asher. You’re much better at inspiring the men. I’m just the better thinker.”

Both men smiled at each other before they began to ride through their camp, ordering their men to take their positions for an impossible charge.

* * *

They didn’t know where Mero or Prendahl were; Jon had asked the Second Sons to find their captains so that they could coordinate, but they were nowhere to be found. So, in the end Asher had asked any man who had the nerve to ride with them to mount a horse and charge. Near all, if not all, of the Second Sons ran to their horses and helped the Red Riders in their endeavor.

They struck Daenerys’ camp, and struck them hard. The first wave cut through the unsullied like cake, but the eunuchs proved to be very efficient when they quickly formed up in defense.

The elephants trumpeted as the Red Riders chanted their words in High Valyrian.

_Ānogar! Ānogar, korzion, rigle!_

They chanted that when the first wave made their strike, a loud boom as the thunder of the elephant footsteps crunched the ground. The unsullied formed in groups of ten, two rows of five, and pointed their spears towards the oncoming stampede. All according to Jon’s predictions.

The archers mounted on the elephants, along with the spare archers on horses, all fired their bows at the offending rows and began to sparse the numbers of the eunuch army.

Eventually, their numbers were too few, reinforcements not arriving soon enough, and the five headed elephant charge smashed through their formation. Bodies flew, and were crushed bloody, as the grey behemoths marched through their camp; the stamping of horses not far behind.

Jon unsheathed his sword, the castle forged steel glittering in the moonlight, and swung to slice men left and right. It must have been no more than ten minutes when he could make out the large tent that Daenerys Targaryen claimed for her own. All parties were on high alert, very much aware that they were under attack, a large squad of unsullied defending the entrance of her tent.

The front wave was no more, having all been speared and gored to death, leaving the elephants vulnerable to the piercing of spears. He grabbed for the horn that hung from his horse, and blew, calling riders to his side. Asher took the left flank while Jon the right; they charged with a small group to attack the sides of the formations.

They smashed the second to last defense, though not unscathed. Asher had lost his entire squad, a cut on his cheek from an expertly dodged spear, while Jon only had two men left. They focused their attention to the last line of Daenerys’ defense. Only one more charge and they could capture her to force a surrender.

Jon grabbed a spear, that was stuck in a Second Son rider, and cocked it has he rode, aiming for the line of Unsullied before he flung it at full force. It hit a soldier in their shoulder blade, and the eunuch fell back. The man was still alive but wouldn’t be getting up any time soon. Hopefully.

“Seven hells, Snow,” Asher yelled from next to him. “You’ve been practicing that throw for moons now and your aim is still worse than piss.”

They all lined up, side by side; four riders against 15 unsullied.

“We don’t have enough men,” Jon realized, ignoring Asher’s comment. “We need to hold off the charge.”

“You need not tell me twice,” Asher agreed, slowing Wrath down as the circled back.

That’s when Jon caught sight of a small group returning, one individual carrying a large tapestry over his shoulder.

The man took his helm off when he caught sight of the riders, revealing himself to be Daario Naharis.

Jon pulled on Mutt’s reins and circled back around.

“Jon?” Asher called out to him, but Jon ignored him as he dismounted his horse, his sword in hand.

That damn traitor, Jon thought.

Daario answered the obvious challenge by twirling his arakh, stalking towards him with his curved blade up at eye level. Jon brought his blade in front of him and moved it readily when Daario gave a quick strike. The blade bounced off his sword, but its agile design proved fruitful when Daario swung once more with quick cutting edge.

Jon grabbed his blade with a spare hand, and half-sworded the strike away. The Tyroshi was off balance and Jon took the opportunity to lunge forward in a stabbing motion. The sellsword only managing to narrowly avoid his throat from being pierced.

The fight seemed even, and Jon wasn’t sure as to who the victor would be; but the fight was cut short when a corpse returned from the dead and grabbed at Jon’s leg, putting him off balance and tripping him.

Daario smirked at the opportunity and swung high to bring the arakh down towards Jon, causing him to think that his life had been over in that very instant. All he could do was throw his hands in front of his face for defense, which he knew was futile.

However, Daario gave out a cry of pain and he clutched down at the side of his abdomen, a fresh wound from a pierced arrow. Jon moved his head to where it had come from and his eyes landed upon a Red Rider that was mounted atop an elephant; his bow still cocked from when it had directed the projectile.

Naharis stumbled back with a pained growl, and an unsullied appeared at his side for support. Asher soon reached his own side and helped him Jon to his feet.

They grabbed their swords and stood back to back, waiting for any challenger to charge at them and unaware of the queen that had been witness to the entire events.

“Asher! Jon!”

They turned to Beskha’s voice, seeing her mounted atop her own horse. She pointed to behind them.

“Look!”

They turned to the ground and saw a yellow tapestry with a brown harpy embroidered. A tapestry that was located by the great room where the masters convened.

The message was clear, and very much bitter. Asher reached for the horn at his hip and gave a prolonged blow.

The Red Riders all began to drop their weapons at their feet, the Second Sons soon following in suit. Finally, the captain and commander were the last to let their swords fall onto the dirt.

The battle was lost.

* * *

_Ānogar! Ānogar, korzion, rigle! – Blood! Blood, steel, honor! (rigle is separated by syllables when pronounced in its chant.)_

_"Ānogar! Ānogar, korzion, ri-gle!"_


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had Dany/Daario tagged, but then I realized a reader was right. There is nothing between them at the moment, and I honestly haven't decided if I will have anything between them. So, unlike Jon who slept with a tavern whore, it doesn't merit a tag if I'm being honest with myself.
> 
> Thank you for pointing that out reader 👍

**Daenerys POV**

For the first time since Ser Jorah had saved her from the wine merchant, since she’d traversed the Red Waste with only a handful of her Khalasar at her back, Daenerys had felt as if she’d been near death. She would be lying if she said that the sight of Jon Snow riding full tilt at her, with a charge of five war elephants behind him, wasn’t terrifying.

He and his commander had sliced through her unsullied with ease, only picking a few at a time and leaving the rest at the mercy of their massive terrors of ivory. Even with Ser Barristan at her side, she was sure that they could have killed her if they so wished. For what was one of the greatest swordsmen compared to the charge of five elephant bulls?

She had seen him, and his commander, circling back when their charging line had thinned to retrieve more men, but Daario Naharis had soon made himself known. He’d revealed himself when he’d shown his face and suddenly Jon Snow had turned his armored mount back around. When he had dismounted and brandished his sword to challenge the Second Sons turn cloak, Daenerys had been half tempted to take the opportunity to have Ser Barristan or Grey Worm strike the man down. However, Daario Naharis had taken the challenge without complaint and lifted his arakh to accept the duel.

Daenerys had worried for him. Worried for him during the sacking and worried for him when he crossed swords with the Red Riders’ captain. Her worry had soon turned to relief when the grey eyed captain had fallen back, his sword slipping from his hand when he tried to find balance, and at the mercy of Daario’s swing. Her relief did not last long, an arrow piercing Daario’s abdomen when one of the Red Riders’ archers stopped the Second Sons lieutenant from finishing the job.

She had wanted to find the man who’d done it and put him to death for his unfair tactics. For his treachery. But when Ser Barristan had informed her that it had been a dying unsullied that had meddled in first, which she couldn’t see due to her short height, she knew that it was only fair. They were sellswords after all; to them, who cared if it was unfair?

But the strangest thing had soon happened. They had submitted. Laid down their arms and accepted defeat.

Why?

They could have still taken her prisoner or killed her. Her unsullied were slow to coordinate once more, and their cavalry was practically at her threshold. So why had they surrendered so readily? Yes, it was true that by then the mission had been successful. Yunkai had been successfully won, but what did that matter?

That’s what she wondered as she walked through the dungeons of Yunkai; Missandei and a small force of Unsullied at her back.

The cells of the dungeon had been emptied for those that didn’t warrant a high punishment in order to make room for the captives of war; and she could see a few Red Riders confined in said spaces as she made her way to the heart of the maze. Daenerys had ordered for the hierarchy of the upper two to be separated from their men and confined to their own lonely selves.

A pair of unsullied guards stood by a cell door, and Daenerys’ knew that it was where one of the two said men was confined to. Luck was on her side, the infuriating northerner with eyes as dark as slate sat in a cot with his head bowed down. He didn’t look up, even when the footsteps stopped outside his cell.

Daenerys gestured for one of the unsullied to grab the man’s attention, causing one of the guards to bang his spear against the metal. Finally, he rose his head to observe the queen at his door.

“Queen Daenerys,” he acknowledged in a raspy tone.

She received his acknowledgment with silence, simply eyeing the man with violet hues full of detestation. He had been in the cell for three days and his appearance showed for it; hair matted and unkempt, his skin dull and sagged from the poor nutrition he’d received.

“You look quite the mess, Jon Snow,” she mocked.

He didn’t rise to her with a sharp tongue of his own. It seemed that Jon Snow was very much aware of what was best for him in the present time.

“The masters have all been put to the sword by the freed people of Yunkai,” she said to him.

“Freed people?” he asked.

“Former slaves.”

Silence.

“Does that bother you?” She asked of him when he made no noise. “That your masters have been put to death by the people they held in chains?”

He looked straight into her eyes.

“You think me a lapdog to the masters?”

“You fought for them, did you not?”

“They paid me to fight for them. I don’t serve them out of loyalty.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him.

“You don’t?” she questioned flatly. “So, you didn’t defend the city in their name? You didn’t reject my offer in their name? And you didn’t slaughter my armies with the aim of capturing or killing me…in their name?”

He scoffed and looked away.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“What is there to understand? You fought for slavers. You murdered freed slaves for slavers. You defended a sieged city, from a quest of freeing slaves, for slavers.”

“I had a contract with the masters,” he replied. “Nothing more, nothing less. Do I detest that my employers were slavers? Aye, I do. But a contract taken is a contract that must be upheld.”

“You certainly have a twisted sense of morality,” she noted. “I’ll accept the fact that you were loyal. However, I can’t understand nor accept that such an ‘honest’ and ‘honorable’ man could be loyal for an abhorrent cause.”

“If you’re here to preach to me about morality and what makes an honorable individual, then I suggest you go about with your duty and move on to whatever calls to you next,” Jon glowered.

She stepped closer to the cell doors and the unsullied gripped their spears tighter.

“You do not give me commands, Jon Snow,” she stated with a cold tone.

“Aye, I don’t. Though, I will speak my mind and give my opinion. Following my advice would save both of us wasted breath.”

Jon Snow was undoubtedly the most infuriating man she’d ever had the unpleasantry of meeting.

“Having you executed would save me much wasted breath _and_ time.”

If he was phased, he didn’t show it.

“Then you should save us both our breaths, and our time, and get on with it.”

“Believe me, I wish for nothing more in this moment,” she snarled at him.

“Then what stops you,” he wondered.

She stared at him with a tight jaw, her patience wearing thin, composing herself before she spoke.

“You truly have a death wish,” she stated.

“When you fight as a sellsword, one’s luck is bound to vanish. There aren’t many old men in this young man’s game.”

She blinked at his hunched form. He was infuriating, but quite unlike any other person she’d ever met. She should hold all the cards, the master of his fate as he sat as her prisoner; but he spoke to her as if they were on equal footing. His words gave an air of both compliance and power.

“As much as I would like to meet your expectations, I’m afraid that I’m put in a predicament,” Daenerys said.

That piqued his attention.

“As I’m sure you know, your companions are held in these cells along with you. Your men bunched and cooped together-”

“Asher’s men,” he interrupted.

She blinked.

“The men, along with me, are Asher’s men. He commands the Red Riders.”

“I will forgive this much impertinence this one time. Never presume to interrupt me again,” she ordered.

He pursed his lips but nodded.

“The Red Riders are all held in confinement in these dungeons, and your War Elephants have been repossessed for my forces.”

He gave her no surprised look, quite expecting that much to happen.

“However, I have no capable individual within my army that can work effectively with them.”

She didn’t finish the rest of the words as she knew he would catch on to what she was trying to say.

“You want the squadrons that work with the elephants?”

Daenerys nodded.

“Why not just ask them directly? Or force them to your cause? You’ve bested us, and we’re all at your mercy.”

“Forcing the people under my leadership would undermine my fight in itself, and I’ve already attempted to ask the men to join my cause. They’re too proud and refuse to follow anyone else.”

“So, what is it that you expect of me? To speak with them and convince them to turn cloaks?”

“No,” she shook her head. “I haven’t much experience in this life, and I don’t assume to know every individual. However, from what I’ve seen, I believe the men in your company to have a sense of loyalty to you and your commander.”

“Then?”

“The Second Sons also pose a problem at the moment,” she said, ignoring his question for the time being.

“Having trouble in getting Mero and Prendahl to submit?” he asked.

“Mero and Prendahl are dead,” she informed him.

He sat quietly, looking at her with narrowed eyes as he processed her words.

“How?”

“Shortly before the infiltration of Yunkai, Daario Naharis snuck into my camp and presented to me with their heads.”

“Why am I not surprised?” He muttered to himself.

“You disapprove?”

He gave her an incredulous look.

“He was part of the Second Sons and followed Mero and Prendahl. They showed him enough favor to rise him in their ranks and still he slaughtered them through treachery.”

She heard and understood his words, but still she felt no guilt or sympathy for the two men.

“Daario Naharis betrayed two men that fought to keep slavery intact and has in turn helped free the people of Yunkai. You, on the other hand, have stayed loyal to those who would see innocents suffer forever in chains.”

“A traitor is still a traitor,” he replied. “If that’s what you hope to inspire and reward, then perhaps you must reassess your fight.”

He slumped and lied down on his cot.

“I suspect he now commands the Second Sons. Assuming he’s alive, that is.”

“He is,” she confirmed. “He’ll be unable to fight for at least a moon’s time; the healers tell me. But he will recover.”

“He leads the Second Sons, then?”

Her response was only silence. Jon looked at her with an inquisitive look and saw her staring at him with a troubled look.

“His leadership is… unreliable,” she admitted.

He looked away from her in thought.

“The Second Sons are not completely amiable towards Daario Naharis. Not after the stunt you pulled.”

He turned to her.

“That _I_ pulled?”

“Yes,” she hissed. “That you pulled. If you and your commander hadn’t rallied the Second Sons to your cause, then there wouldn’t have been unnecessary bloodshed. The Second Sons wouldn’t have lost so many men in your assault and I wouldn’t have to continue to vie for their support. Furthermore, you and your company would be wherever you deemed to be; I wouldn’t have taken you prisoner once the city was taken.”

“Oh, I see,” he said. “The Second Sons lost brothers and friends and blame Daario for the bloodshed. I can’t say that I feel envious of him at the moment.”

“Yes. It’s put me in quite a precarious position. You see, I need the Second Sons on my side if I am to complete my quest.”

“So, what is it you plan to do?”

“I find you a smart individual, Jon Snow. Tell me, what do you think I should do?”

Jon placed his arms behind his head as he stared up to the ceiling, weighing his response. He didn’t have the faintest idea as to why Daenerys Targaryen refrained from putting him to the sword and he as to why she had come to him for advice. However, one of his greatest faults was the need to be clever, and to prove his usefulness.

“I would grab a man that the Second Sons trust and place him in charge. You’ve taken Yunkai and, in doing so, proven your cunning. Your arguments should prove much stronger than they have ever before.”

“And…if I were placed in a situation between two problems that could be solved with one solution. Would you say that it’d would be worth pursuing that solution?” She asked him, quietly.

“If the solution was worth pursuing for your goals, then I would say so,” he responded.

She heard his words and stood in silence as she absorbed his answer. Her mind racing as she steeled her nerves and came to a decision.

“I’m going to have you amongst my army, Jon Snow.”

He responded with a sharp turn of his head and confused grey eyes.

“What?” He asked, taken aback.

“You will be a part of my army,” she restated.

“Why?”

“Because you’re useful to me,” she admitted.

“Useful to you?”

“Yes. You hold respect amongst the Red Riders. With you in my army, it would no longer be impossible to ask the ones that control the elephants to join my cause.”

His eyes showed that he understood her logic. The next logical point, it would take him a while to understand.

“And, the Second Sons hold some form of respect for you as well,” she admitted begrudgingly.

“The Second Sons,” he said incredulously. “You believe that they respect me? Are you mad?”

Her nostrils flared.

“The Second Sons respect strength and those that stand by them,” she said to him. “At least, that’s what Daario Naharis told me. They do not believe he stood by them when he slew the Titan’s Bastard or his companion.”

“So, you think they’d follow me?”

“No. I don’t think they’d go that far. However, I believe that I could find someone respected in their ranks that would follow my cause if he believed you or your commander submitted to my leadership.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” he muttered.

She stood there by the cell bars, waiting for his response with bated breath.

“What if I refuse?” He asked aloud.

“Excuse me?”

“What if I refuse,” he asked her once more, looking at her in her eyes. “What happens if I say no to your request?”

“Then you die.”

He nodded with a contemplative look. And then he lied back down on his cot with a face void of worry. His seemingly acceptive nature of his death irked Daenerys to her core.

She took a deep breath.

“And, so will the rest of your companions,” she finished with a steeled voice.

Those words certainly worried him, making him bolt upright.

“What?” he asked frantically.

“You heard what I said.”

“You can’t kill them just for following me,” he told her with an angry burr to his voice.

“Of course, I can,” she retorted. “Your men slaughtered a portion of my unsullied and were part of an attempt on my life. By all accounts, I’m well within reason to put all of you to the sword.”

“It’s cruel,” he growled.

“It’s fair,” she rebutted.

Then, she began to pace around his cell, her hands clasped in front of her.

“You have a choice, Jon Snow. Follow me, and you have another chance at life. It won’t be forever. Perhaps only until my next mission. Who’s to know? However, I need your usefulness at this moment.”

“And if I refuse, then my other option is dying and sentencing every member along with my friends to death.”

She nodded.

“That’s not much of a choice,” he snarled.

“Everyone has a choice,” she shot back. “Make sure you make the right one. You’re a leader Jon Snow. You may hide behind your friend in an attempt to shirk responsibilities, but I see the making of one inside you.”

She turned around to her group.

“I plan on marching on Meereen in four days’ time,” she said. “I will come back in three to hear your final answer.”

She began to walk away, leaving him to his thoughts.

“Make sure you make the right one. For you, and for your friends.”


End file.
